


Fierce and Awful Grace

by ineptshieldmaid



Series: Of Heroes and Queens [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, The magician's nephew
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-16
Updated: 2008-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jadis leaves with Uncle Andrew, Polly finds her perspective has changed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fierce and Awful Grace

'Whew,' said Polly, as the sound of Jadis on the stairs faded. 'And now I must get home. It's frightfully late. I shall catch it.' Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, at once too loud and barely audible. She might have been shouting into Nothingness, the room was suddenly so empty, with only Digory to hear her. Was it late? Some part of her was speaking automatically, as bright and chummy as if they had been exploring the empty house all day.

'Well do come back as soon as you can. This is simply ghastly, having her here. We must make some sort of plan.'

Polly blinked and focused for a moment on Digory. He was, she registered, miffed at her tone. Did he think she had some sort of responsibility for her? Did he think that she, Polly, could somehow stand against her?

'That's up to your Uncle now,' she answered, a little vaguely.

'You will come back, won't you? Hang it all, you can't leave me in a scrape like this!'

That broke through to Polly at last. She drew herself up to her full height- a little over five feet- and tossed her braids imperiously. Not leave him? Who did he think he was, this dirty-faced little boy? 'I shall go home by the tunnel,' she declared, extending one finger and pointing, painfully aware of the contrast between her own short, dirty digit and the long, cold, pale fingers whose gestures so recently filled the room. 'And if you want me to come back again, hadn't you better say sorry?'

'Sorry! Well, now if that isn't just like a girl? What have I done?'

'Oh, nothing of course,' said Polly, doing her best to muster an icy stare. 'Only nearly screwed my wrist off in that room with all the waxworks. (How dare he manhandle me?) Only struck the bell with the hammer, like a silly idiot.'

* * *

Like a silly idiot. Polly thinks Digory painfully inadequate, now. A silly, dirty boy, with his measly wizard uncle. She should have been attended by a great hero, a terrifying warrior, someone who knew what he was doing. A man as powerful and evil as she herself.

No. That would have been better than bumbling Diggory and his pigtailed sidekick Polly, but not what she deserved. She should have been woken by a great knight, a servant of the dark magic, beautiful and terrible... and brought through the Wood of Worlds, not to bumbling Uncle Andrew but to... A great Queen.

Not to Old Mrs Lefay's godson, but to her many times great Grandmother, the Black Fairy Queen. A woman as cold, and as terrifying as Jadis herself. The Black and the White... The one, with the magic of this world at her fingertips, the other, with the commanding presence of the Empress of Lost Charn... The Black and the White, they would twine together and bring this world to its feet. Knights and warriors would bow before them, beg to be taken as their consorts, but they would have no need of anything but each other. And when all resistance had been wiped away, when they stood together as two Queens, unopposed, when Jadis had mastered the magic of this world and when the Black Fairy Queen had fed off Jadis' strength until they were equal, perfectly matched in every way... then, they would tear each other apart. Not the unmeasured slaughter of Charn- no, these two would destroy each other, face to face and skin to skin, pulling each other down and pulling each other apart in a storm of magic.

That, Polly thinks, would have been fit treatment for Jadis the Terrible. What she had, instead, was dirty little Digory and pigtailed Polly. And now Uncle Andrew, that pitiful excuse for a magician.

* * *

Polly went home in a daze. She answered her mother's questions without really listening, and when her mother declared she would not allow Polly to play with 'that Kirke boy' again, Polly accepted numbly, wondering why her mother thought this is a harsh punishment. She did not notice the blandness of dinner, and went listlessly upstairs to lie, staring at the ceiling and thinking of nothing. Cold, white Nothing. Nothingness as icy as Jadis' eyes, Nothingness as wrenching as Jadis' hands in her hair. Polly curled around herself, trying to make her body as small as she felt. Small- small- like dust on the floor of the throneroom of Charn... Her small hand swallowed in Jadis' large, cold grasp. Small, inconsquential Polly, dragged along in Jadis' wake. Small, terrified Polly, unworthy to so much as speak to Jadis. Unworthy to stand against her or beside her.

There was the sound of disturbance from the street, a fire engine siren, people shouting, a whip cracking, and Polly realised she had not been thinking of Nothing. She had been waiting for Jadis to return.

She reached the street as Jadis cut her horse free and wheeled around to face the crowd. The Empress was breath-taking, her neck wreathed in pearls and diamonds, the sinews of her back rippling as pulled on the reins. Some part of Polly- the part that crawled into the tunnel that afternoon- saw the wreck of the hansom cab, the chaos on her street, and felt sick. On the whole, Polly did not care. If she could just stay here, and watch, watch Jadis bring all these people low before her, watch the way she moved and listen to that voice.. If she could just stay here and watch, Polly would never care about anything again.

'Three cheers for the Empress of Colney 'Atch,' someone cried. The cheers rang out, colour came to Jadis' face, and Polly's heart raced. Then- impossible sound- laughter. Mocking, mocking Jadis the Terrible! The Empress reached up and tore an iron bar out of the lampost, brandishing it with a fierce and awful grace.

When Jadis brought the bar down onto the policeman's head, crushing him in one blow, the small part of Polly that still kept track of these things realised that a man had just been killed, before her eyes, in the middle of her street. Likely the rest of her would not have noticed or cared, except that her eyes caught a flash of movement to the side of Jadis' horse, and she realised, with a thrill, that it was Digory. Dirty, unimportant Digory, who still had the rings in his pockets. Polly found herself moving, shoving through the crowd to Digory's side, to Jadis' side. Was she- whose aid was she going to?

She found herself speaking: 'Quick, Diggory, this must be stopped!' Her hand was in his- his brown paw, which regardless of its grubby state, was warm and sturdy, and about the same size as her own.

'You are a brick,' said Digory. 'Hold onto me tight. You'll have to manage the ring. Yellow, remember. And don't put it on till I shout.' Polly gripped his hand until her knuckles were blue, and as Digory grasped and flailed for Jadis' ankle, Polly decided she was glad, after all, that she would not have to touch Jadis herself.


End file.
